Lost Your Moxie
by SaintIves
Summary: I was in the Justice League for a year. I fought one villain. That's it. No big-shot super-villains, just a crazy guy with a bombs and weak super-powers like my own. But I did something. I lived. I learned. I...loved. J'onn/OC.
1. Chapter 1: Recording Session

I was made a Justice League member for life. I only lived out part of my life on the Watchtower.

But even though I'm not there, not fighting, am I still a member of the Justice League?

...No. Of course I'm not. Technically, I am, but I'm nothing to them anymore. I can't help them do anything. I _want _to help them, to aid them, but I can't. I want that feeling of power in my heart, the feeling of strength in numbers. I wanted to feel unity again. When I was with the Justice League, I was never alone. Now, I'm just one person among 5 billion.

Don't ask them what they think of me. Please don't. They'll tell you that, though I wasn't there for long, I made a difference. Truth is, I didn't really. I fought one villain. One! One, compared to hundreds! And that same villain is being taken care of by a nurse, just like I am, right now! We're both totally useless!

I did _nothing. _I only temporarily halted a flow of endless crimes. No matter how long or how hard we fight, they'll never stop. We'll never achieve victory, because they just won't stop coming. If we kill them (which we don't do), they'll spawn some more. There's no point. We're engaging a war on the villain's home world, where, when their blood touches the ground, more are grown from the other's remains.

Us heroes? You can easily run out of us. We're limited supply. It takes a special kind of person to go out and fight the bad people, and there's only some many of those special people on this world. But deep down? Everyone's a bad person. Even Superman.

Yeah, I know. I'm pessimistic and cynical. I'm, frankly, depressing and saddening. It's torment to listen to my thoughts. I _know _that's what's going through your mind, even though I can't read your thoughts. Well, ever think that I don't _want _my thoughts heard, my life story published? I'm just a useless creature now. Why bother with me?

I'm not going to get you out of my head, am I?

No? Didn't think so.

Fine.

My name is Werewolf. I know, it sounds stupid, but there's a reason they call me that. And I'm not telling you my real name, so forget about it. I haven't told _anyone _my real name. I've been nicknamed "Moxie." I guess that's what you'll refer to me by.

I didn't work for my power, and I wasn't born with it either. I was given it at the age of 15. My mother was poor, so she sold me to a lab for a thousand dollars. She told me that she'd send someone to get me back, but no one ever came.

I won't tell you the whole thing, but the end result of the experiment (called Γύρνα,' the Greek word for "turn around," pronounced 'Yur-na') is kind of easy to grasp. It's a bit confusing, so I'll use an example. Someone punches me. A little machine inside my body captures the force of it and converts it to strength for me to use. I then punch the person who punched me, with not only all the force he punched me with but with my strength added. Whatever someone hits me with, I send it right back at 'em. I can do the same with bullets, as they don't pierce my skin. I don't know if it has limits, but I'm done some pretty amazing things with my power.

And, because of that power, I was in the Justice League. I was in it for a year. And this is how it went.


	2. Chapter 2: Escape

"_If you can't run, walk," _

The words flashed in my mind for a brief second before dissolving into the black hole of panic in my brain. The kind advice from my "mother" was lost; all I could comprehend was the whirling scream of the alarms, the red lights, and the sound of searchers.

The map of the facility was clear in my mind. I had sat and studied it for hours, committing every room, hallway, and turn to memory. I was in the final stretch-this was the transfer loop, where they begin in new subjects. It was one large circle, with hallways that lead to every section of the lab. Most importantly, though, was the door to the last part of the building-the long corridor with the entrance at the end. It was the only place public was allowed to see.

Security was strongest at the start of the transfer loop. This wouldn't be easy.

I was in a corner room, where two halls meet. This is the "Business Room," where the experimenters made deals with criminals, government officials, and anyone who needs protection. It was filled with computers and, in the center, was a hole where people were pushed into if they attacked. It landed in the basement, and I've heard that there's something really bad down there.

I peaked my head over the table, forcing myself to breathe quieter, and looked at the hole. Glass gates surrounded it, up to my waist. It was a perfect square, the floor around it a blindingly bright white. It shouldn't look scary, but it did. It looked like a monster with perfect teeth.

There's no one else in this room, but they could burst into the room at any second and push me in. They'd press a button that would make a glass panel go over the opening. That way, they could watch it if they wanted to without hearing anything.

The alarms would go off, and everything would go back to normal, and I'd be left down there to die. It'd be all over.

There's no pain greater then fear, especially when you feel deep down in the pit of your stomach.

_ You can do it, _I told myself. _You're not just a human. You're more. _

With a deep breath, I rose from my hiding spot and began to run.

The pain in my side was sharp and strong, like I was being attacked with an ice pick. It made every breath difficult, but pain didn't faze me. I've been taught better then that.

Sprinting as fast as my body allowed, I shot past the hole and made a beeline for the door. _Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiurt. _A long, mechanical sound filled the room. It was a long, sliding noise, with a loud click at the end that reminded me of an over-accented T. I froze where I was, like ice was encasing my legs. There was a door opening behind me.

"Stop where you are!" the loud command filled the room.

_What are you doing? GO! _

My legs immediately kicked into action and I grabbed at the door. There was a number pad where I had to put in a code, a code I knew but didn't have the time to put in.

Normal bullets don't harm me. But these guys have bullets laced with my one weakness, the one they gave to me; silver bullets.

Kinda funny if you think about it. A scientific experiment with a mythical creature's weakness.

I heard four shots ring out, loud and explosive in the air, but not a thing came near me. I smirked.

"Thomas," I sighed out loud. I pivoted and looked at the man across the room. "I knew I could count on you."

Thomas was like me, a person forced to take part in these horrible experiments. However, he wasn't on the receiving end; he was a guard. He came awful close to being a subject once, so he made a point to help this place's victims. This lab didn't have a name; no, they were too secretive for that. All people knew was it's location, and that's only if you knew the right people. They created "super-beings" for anyone who had enough money. Thomas hated this place for it.

So now, he was helping me escape. At the same time, he'd escape too, but return to free the other victims.

With speed, he raced to my side of the room. He was a perfect soldier-tall and strong, with prideful green eyes and a crooked smile. He wasn't the most handsome guy in the world, and not the ugliest, but he had a will inside him, a will stronger then steel; a will I hope to replicate.

"'Course you could." he said with a grin as he punched numbers into the number pad. He hit 'enter,' and the doors slid open. "_Apres-vous_." He smirked, holding his arms out and standing to the side.

Thomas was a man made of idiosyncrasies. One of them was his will to flaunt his fluent French. His mother was French, and he took great pride in it. He spoke it whenever he could. I'm not sure if that was to make him sound smarter then anyone or simply because the language is beautiful. I wanted to learn Greek, but I...never got the chance, for obvious reasons.

Feeling more powerful then I was, I strolled through the door. All that was left was the transfer loop. Thankfully, I had a guard with me that knew all the codes. After we took care of the other guards, we'll unlock the door and be out of here lickety-split.

We broke out into a run. Thomas easily flew past me (I'll admit, I'm slow as a snail) and I pushed myself to keep up. The transfer loop was very mechanical looking, with computers and wires everywhere. There were desks where secretaries worked and such, but they had run. Everything was painted with the red that meant "panic!"

He reached the door and began to madly punch in numbers. The door made a click and Thomas opened it.

No way.

I looked at the "Visitor's Room" in shock. I had only seen it once, 10 years ago when I was 15. There was no sign of the alarms, no whirling screeches, no bloody lights. It was simple and deadly quiet, with light yellow wallpaper, green furniture, and a wooden desk at the end of the room, with perfectly organized papers sitting on dark wood and a spinning, wheeled chair. Florescent lights reflected in the shining, perfectly polished floor that I could see my reflection in; a 25-year-old woman, muscular but not slender, with crudely cut hair just past her shoulders stared back at me. I never got to look at my reflection much. It didn't seem important. All I knew was the color of my hair, the color of my skin, and, roughly, my body shape.

And there was a feeling of...discomfort in my gut. Wrongness.

"No way this was that easy." I said, turning to Thomas.

"The exit's right over there, and you're standing here talking?" he said with a chuckle.

I looked at him, then at the door.

Then bolted for it.

Before I knew it, I pushed through the center of the doors and out into the open.

The cold air hit me like a ton of bricks, but it smelled so fresh and clean, free of the sting of antiseptic and the stale taste of recycled air. The night was dark, the sky pitch-black, but lights lined the streets. The street itself, and the sidewalk around it, was dirty and covered with graffiti. Bags of thrash littered the street. No one walked around. It was so bad even the homeless deserted it.

The rot of the garbage got to my nose. Suddenly, the air didn't smell so good. I switched to breathing through my mouth as Thomas burst through the doors after me. He stood next to me, waiting for me to finish my moment.

It _was _'a moment,' wasn't it? My first time outside in 10 years. And though the first thing I saw was a deserted slum and it was cold as a snake's eyes, it was still a moment.

Free. Finally.

No more...no more of those villains with their surgery equipment, poking and prodding and jabbing and cutting and testing and laughing as they do it…

I hope they die. I want to kill them.

The thought came, strangely, without aggression. It was just a simple fact, like thinking: "I want to watch TV."

I _do _want to kill them.

But right now, with this big open world in front of me…

"Where do we go now?" I asked in a whisper.

"Wherever you want to." Thomas said in a stunned, quiet breath. "I can't believe we just did that."

"Me either." I shook my head, and as I did, my eyelids started to close. The adrenaline was wearing off, and it was late. I looked at Thomas's watch: 1:42 A.M.

"I want a _bed._" I admitted. In the facility, we had air beds, and if there was a hole in them, oh well. They refilled them once every month, and if yours lost air, you had to deal with it. My had a hole to begin with. I might as well have slept on the floor.

"I can do that." Thomas obliged. "Follow me." He grabbed me by the wrist and began to lead me to a nearby parking garage. We walked faster then my tired brain wanted me too, but we didn't run; it would look suspicious. The way to get away from someplace is to act as if you were never there in the first place.

In a dazed state, we reached his Toyota, and I passed out in the car.


	3. Chapter 3: Comfort

Deep in the dark haze of sleep, I felt a tap on my shoulder. My eyes flitted open.

"Wake up, petite louve. I'd carry you in, but here I might look...weird."

I laughed quietly, and sat up, stretching. We were in yet another parking garage. Still exhausted, I stumbled my way through the levels and to an apartment complex. We were in a better part of the city, the middle-class part.

It's really weird, those moments when you first wake up. The world doesn't even seem real; it seems like another figment of your imagination, just like your dreams.

After an elevator ride that passed in a blur, we arrived at his apartment. He opened the door, and I stumbled in.

It was obviously a guy's apartment-there was a bare amount of furniture with little decoration. There was a kitchen on one side of the door and a living room on the other, with just a couch, coffee table, and TV. I started toward the couch, wanting nothing more then to collapse on it.

It seemed less like I was moving towards it, and it was moving towards me.

Then, it suddenly stopped. Slowly, I turned my head and saw Thomas holding my elbow. He shook his head. "You take the bed," he tilted his head toward what I assumed was his bedroom. "I'll take the couch."

I wanted to argue, but I was too tired. Instead, I just nodded and started to shamble, much like a zombie, toward his room. I heard him flop down on the couch behind me.

I opened the door, and saw only the bed. I swear my eyes were closed before I even got there.

Not even a $1000 spa trip would have been better then sleeping in a real bed; not a deflated air bed, but a real bed. I'm not sure if I've ever been more comfortable then I was sleeping in that bed. The pillows, clouds, and the blanket soft tendrils of warm fog holding me in their grasp.

Wait. Bad metaphor. That's the kind of thing that sounds good when you're dazed and tired, but once you think about it, it's a bit disturbing. I don't wanna be held by fog.

That was my first thought as I woke up. I don't want to be held by fog. Heh.

As I slowly awoke, I realized I had been stirred by some noise. I felt another presence in the room.

As I sat up and stretched, I assumed it was Thomas.

It was.

"Sorry!" he grimaced as he slowly pushed a drawer closed. He was wearing the same thing as the day before; the guards didn't have a uniform at the lab. He just wore work pants and a long-sleeved dark green shirt that matched his eyes. He was pulling fresh clothes out of a wardrobe. Embarrassed, I looked down at what I was wearing. Sadly, the test subjects had uniforms. It was a plain dark blue jumpsuit. It smelled of sweat.

Great.

"I didn't mean to wake you." Thomas apologized.

"It's OK. It's…" my eyes slid to the clock on the table. "Noon?" I threw the blankets off of me. I didn't feel tired anymore, so what point was there in lounging around? The bed didn't feel as comfortable as before, and I was eager to see the big wide world. I started to get up, but Thomas was sitting on the side of the bed, next to me.

"No...you can relax for a while." his words echoed after they left his mouth, and he just sat in silence and looked at me for a moment.

It felt...awkward.

Everyone knows that panicky, jumpy feeling you get when someone's looking at you. I couldn't help let my eyes dart away.

"I can't believe you." He said finally.

"...what?"

"You were trapped, but you fought your way out." He smirked. "You're a special person...and I don't even know you name."

I felt his fingers underneath my chin and my mind spun. During adolescence, I often had, eh...thoughts about some of the other subjects, and sometimes guards, but I never let them be known. It was just part of being a teenager. I hadn't thought about anything like this since I was 18, but…

"Call me...call me…"

I wanted to say my name, but I was halted.

He kissed me.

For a too-long moment, I couldn't think. All I felt was his lips against me, and it felt...pleasant. Comforting.

Can I just...stay here for a while?

He pulled away, and I was left wanting. "We should get some breakfast. Then we'll go out and get you some clothes."

I stayed sitting as he got up, and left the room.

Whoa.

I grabbed my head and shook it, trying to clear the mist. I learned that if you didn't think too hard about things, they didn't leave as much of an impact.

I walked to the bathroom and, for the first time since I was 15, looked in the mirror.

Dear God. Is that me?

The girl in the mirror wasn't ugly, but not beautiful either. Her skin was pasty white from hardly seeing the sun. There were a few breakouts along her jaw from stress. Her muddy brown hair had been chopped crudely, all uneven sides and jagged ends, going just past her shoulders. The eyes were a dark gray, deep-set, but slightly smaller then most. Her nose was at least proportional to her eyes. Her cheekbones didn't have the gift of being defined, but she did have one saving grace; full, pouty lips.

Not how I expected. But I can live with it.

I looked at what could be the more important part; my body.

Grrr.

I wasn't particularly curvy, and I had a muscular physique, as they made me fight. My, uh...chest was average. The one defining feature was the obvious strength.

Well, yeah. I'm an experiment in human weaponry.

Hmm. That makes me sound cooler then I really am.

Self-conscious for no apparent reason, I slunk out of the bathroom and started to open the door to the living room. Then, I heard voices.

"-Alice? What are you doing here?" Thomas…?

"Just wanted to see you. It's noon you know. Most people are awake by then." Who's...that…?It's a female's voice. A sister…? Cousin…?

"I didn't expect you."

"Well get used to it. I am your girlfriend."

Oh…

After cursing mentally, I growled to myself. He has a girlfriend? Since when?

Oh, bloody...for all that's good and…

I took a deep breath. "Just chill out. Who cares?"

I tried to keep that in mind as I opened the door.

It slowly creaked out, and I saw the girl. She was quite tall and lovely, with warm auburn hair, beautifully wavy. Her blue eyes immediately darted to me.

Thomas looked...scared.

The girl crossed her arms, and gave Thomas a glare.

"...really, Thomas?"

"I can-,"

"Who is she?" she didn't sound angry. She just wanted an answer. I decided to stay silent while they argued.

"We didn't-,"

"And why is she in your bedroom? Is she related to you?"

"Well, no, but-,"

I couldn't help it. Tears clouded my eyes. I hated myself for it, but they did.

I trusted this guy so much. He was so sweet.

"Thanks for everything, Thomas," I started, my voice crackling and breaking. I began to walk towards the door. "But, um…" I said as I detoured around them.

Thomas grabbed my arm, and I wanted to pull away. But I couldn't. It wasn't that he was too strong. I don't know why I didn't run away.

"Tell her who you are." he commanded quite calmly.

"For Christ's sake, Thomas! Look at her!"

Hey? What's that mean?

The woman pealed Thomas's hand off my arm. "You can leave now." It was half kind and half demanded.

"B-bye, Thomas." The words flooded from my mouth as I nearly sprinted towards the door. I heard him following me, but I walked faster and closed the door behind me.

I ran down the hallway, to the elevator, holding back sobs, raging at myself.

Thomas never followed.

Fifteen minutes later, I was walking down the street. I forced the moisture from my eyes and tried to figure out what I should do.

I had seen a sign that said "Gotham City." I almost forgot the name of this cesspool.

**A/N Sorry for the slow-ish start, but I promise, things'll pick up. Tell me if there's anything that doesn't make sense or I can improve on…**

**Hope you enjoy the story :) **

**-St. Ives (the riddle, not the face scrub) **


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